


What If I Told You?

by cassie_black



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:38:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassie_black/pseuds/cassie_black
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin's dreams of university life don't turn out quite the way he wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What If I Told You?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alby_mangroves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alby_mangroves/gifts).



> Thank you to the new mods for keeping this fest alive, and to the old ones for allowing that to happen. Huge thanks to my beta, N, who steps outside of her fandom bubble to beta Merlin fic for me. And finally to albymangroves -- I only hope you enjoy this half as much as I enjoy your wonderful artwork. Happy Christmas, everyone!!

It isn't that Merlin's ashamed of being gay. Not at all. But he's spent enough of his life growing up in rural towns to know that things will just be easier if he keeps it to himself, for now.

Besides, he reassures himself, when the guilt of dishonesty twinges, it won't be for much longer. Once summer is done, so is he. No more small towns with their equally-sized minds after that. University beckons for Merlin, and with it the heady thrill of finally being true to the person he's known for years himself to be.

So when Arthur looks at him with those beautiful blue eyes and presses his pleas for secrecy against Merlin's skin with lush lips, it doesn't occur to Merlin to object. In fact, he's spent most that glorious summer acquiescing to whatever Arthur Pendragon asked of him.

He's told Gwen, of course – they've been best friends since playschool and tell each other everything. Besides, he knows from painful experience that she has rather pointy elbows and isn't afraid to use them when she feels slighted.

A part of Merlin wants to shout it from the roof-tops. He knows he's lanky and tends towards awkwardness, but Arthur _wants_ him – quite desperately at times, if their late-night phone calls are anything to go by. 

Arthur Pendragon, the target of every single woman with eyes, chose _him_.

But he can wait, bide his time, because his place at Albion University is practically guaranteed, and with it comes the promise of freedom – and Arthur, whose presence there may have played a larger part in Merlin's choice than he's ever going to admit out loud.

-*-*-*-

"You jammy git." Gwen has one finger hooked in the neck of Merlin's polo shirt, her eyes fixed on the scattering of purplish marks there. "I still can't believe that Arthur Pendragon—"

"That he what?" Merlin asks defensively, wary that Gwen is about to put voice to his own insecurities.

"Is _gay_ ," Gwen replies with a look and a tone that tells Merlin he should have known better.

She doesn't say it loud, but enough time spent in Arthur's company has made Merlin paranoid. "Shh," he hisses. "Not here."

Gwen rolls her eyes. They might be in a busy corridor but most of its occupants are far more concerned with collecting their exam results than they are with Merlin Emrys's love life. "How much longer are you planning to keep it a secret?" she asks. "You've got your place sorted at Albion now." She gestures at the envelope in Merlin's hand. "People are going to see you together there."

Merlin shrugs, because it's not really a conversation that they've had yet. He knows what _he_ wants to happen now, but, as always, Arthur's feelings are something of a mystery. "Someone might hear you, though." He looks around warily. "And _you're_ not even supposed to know yet."

"Don't you think you're taking this secrecy thing a bit far? I know you're not officially _out_ yet, but there's no need to hide any longer now you're done with this place."

"Arthur's not ready," Merlin says, though Arthur's never really given the indication that he's even working up to it.

"But you have talked about what's going to happen next term?" Gwen is nothing if not persistent.

"Not exactly." Merlin nudges her towards the door – he'd rather not have this conversation at all, but there's no escaping Gwen, and at least in the car park there are less ears.

"Merlin." Gwen stops and turns to face him. "Arthur does know, doesn't he?"

"Know what?" Merlin asks, playing dumb in a way his exam results make a lie of.

"That you're going to Albion." The concern in Gwen's expression says she's already worked out the answer to the question but wants Merlin to say it nonetheless.

"Not exactly."

"Not exactly? Or not at all?"

"It's just never come up."

"Merlin." She sounds exasperated now. "Why wouldn't you tell him?"

"Because I'm scared, okay? We've never talked about plans beyond what we're doing that weekend, and I'm still not sure where he is on the whole 'being out' situation. So if I'd told him what I was planning at the start of the summer he'd have just freaked out."

"But that was weeks ago."

The sympathy in her tone makes Merlin's skin itch. "I know. But it's like I've left it too late and there's no way it _won't_ be a big deal now."

"You have to tell him before someone else does." Gwen reaches out and takes hold of his hand. "You don't think Gwaine's likely to mention to his best friend that his little brother is about to start the same university as him?"

"I know. I know." Merlin rubs his face, expression miserable. "But what if he doesn't want..."

"Then at least you'll know where you stand," Gwen says, tone brisk. "You both will."

Merlin knows she's right, has known it from the start, but that doesn't stop the roll of nausea overtaking him at the thought.

-*-*-*-

"You're going to Albion?"

Merlin is on his way back from the pub's toilets when Arthur intercepts him. Gwaine had insisted on them coming here to celebrate Merlin's results, and his little brother _becoming a man_. Merlin hadn't had the heart to tell him he'd been a regular in this particular establishment since he entered the sixth form, and that the _making him a man_ part had been taken care of by Arthur many weeks before. 

Only Arthur doesn't look like he's thinking about doing that now. His eyes are a little wide and his fingers digging almost painfully into Merlin's arm.

"Yes." Merlin means it to sound casual, like it isn't the big deal it really is, only it comes out more like a question.

"Were you planning to mention it?" 

Of all the ways he has imagined this conversation going – and Merlin has imaged a lot of them – this particular scene has never featured at all. He'd figured Arthur would be surprised, maybe nervous at the prospect, but right now all he looks is angry. 

"I didn't think it was that big a deal," Merlin lies.

Arthur sees through it. "You didn't think..." He runs one hand through his hair and looks around them nervously. 

"It doesn't have to be a bad thing." Merlin places one hand tentatively on top of Arthur's, which is still gripping him. Or was, until Arthur flinches away like he's been burnt.

Arthur looks around wildly again – the fear of discovery written all over his face. And just like that Merlin can hear everything crashing around his ears. He's been _so_ stupid.

"Merlin," Arthur pauses and swallows hard. "This can't... I thought you understood."

Merlin hadn't. But he does now. Painfully so. But he wants, _needs_ Arthur to spell it out. "Understood what?" and he's proud of how his voice doesn't shake.

"This," Arthur gestures between the two of them, "isn't...It was fun, but it's not..." He licks his lips – a nervous tic Merlin used to find hot but now makes him ache – and glances over to where their friends are seated. "I'm not gay."

Merlin wants to laugh, to point out that Arthur's had his cock in his mouth, and vice versa, so at the very least he's not _straight_. But he's seen that look of denial on boys' faces before and knows it's a waste of his breath.

"So what was I then?" he asks, bitterness edging into his tone. "An experiment? Because you certainly seemed to enjoy it at the time."

Arthur's head droops and for a split second Merlin forgets about his breaking heart and feels sorry for him. "I'm sorry," Arthur steps back and meets Merlin's gaze, "if you misunderstood. But you have to know that this can't be anything more."

Merlin wants to shake him and demand _why_ , but he's seen the flash of fear in Arthur's eyes often enough that he already knows the answer. He even understands to some extent. But none of that helps. "I can't..." he tails off, shaking his head, not sure quite what he wants to say.

"We've only got a few weeks left," Arthur says, with a confidence Merlin finds breathtaking now in a whole new way. "Let's just make the most of them, yeah?"

Merlin knows exactly what he wants to say now. "Fuck you." 

Arthur reacts as if Merlin has slapped him – he physically recoils and it's obvious he didn't expect that response. 

"You think we're just going to carry on? That I'll jump back into bed with you after this?"

"I don't see why this has to change anything," Arthur says stiffly. "It doesn't for me."

"Well, nothing _has_ changed for you has it?" Merlin asks bitterly. "You knew this was coming all along."

"I never promised you anything, Merlin."

_Liar_ , Merlin wants to scream. He wants to repeat all those things Arthur whispered to him at night, to explain that every glance, every touch was a promise in itself, but Arthur's expression is closed off and Merlin knows it will be pointless. He'll only hurt himself more. "I can't do this now," he says, and rubs wearily at his face – this was supposed to be a day of celebration. "I have to go."

He turns, but Arthur's hand on his arm stops him. "Will I see you later?" he asks, and Merlin gapes, because just how much of an idiot does he think Merlin is?

"I don't think that's a very good idea, do you?" He says it as steadily as he can, but the hurt and anger edge into his tone.

Arthur lets go of his arm and shrugs, but even Merlin can see the nonchalance is a little bit forced. "Okay," Arthur says, and shoves his hands into his pockets. "Call me when you've calmed down."

And that's it for Merlin. Any semblance of pity he felt for Arthur, for someone so deep in denial about who he is, vanishes. He can't remember ever feeling this angry before.

He steps into Arthur's space and leans forward a little. "Stay away from me, Arthur. Or I swear to god I'll tell Gwaine about just what you did this summer." He steps back then with a bitter laugh. "Or should that be _who_ you did."

Merlin turns away then, but not before he glimpses the panic on Arthur's face. The victory is hollow and leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Merlin just wants to get far away from Arthur Pendragon.

-*-*-*-

The weeks before he leaves for university seem never ending.

It's not that Merlin isn't kept busy – there's shopping and packing, his mum marching him around their relatives to show off her 'genius' son, and what seems like an endless cycle of farewell parties full of people who have filled Merlin's life these last four years, and who he knows he'll rarely think of again once they've gone their separate ways.

It's the smile he has to keep pasted on his face throughout that exhausts Merlin. Because he's supposed to be happy – all he's ever dreamt about was leaving Ealdor behind. Albion University was supposed to hold everything he's ever wanted – and it does. Only now it will also hold the one thing he can never have.

It's been five weeks, four days, sixteen hours, and around twenty-three minutes since Merlin last saw Arthur. Not that the gaping hole left in his chest has lessened any. And it's not like Merlin can talk about it. Gwen tries her best, but this is a big time in her life too, and Merlin doesn't want her spending it worrying about him – or plotting any more dire revenge on Arthur Pendragon than the numerous plans she's already mentioned since Merlin first sobbed on her shoulder.

He wants to tell his mum – he's always told her everything. And even though it's 'boy trouble', Merlin knows she'd hold him close and soothe his pain, just like always. Only he can't. Because he promised. And unlike Arthur, he's a man of his word.

So even now, as they wait for his train, Merlin's smile is firmly in place.

Not as convincingly as he's thought, though, because his mum places her hand gently on his arm. "Don't look so scared," she says softly.

"Huh?" Merlin tears his eyes away from the track where he'd been watching for the train with equal parts of elation and terror.

In reply, she slides her hand down to cover his white-knuckled grip on his suitcase.

Merlin shakes his head. "I'm fine. Honestly." What's one more lie in a summer that's been littered with them?

His mother remains unconvinced. "You'll have a wonderful time. Think of all those new people you'll meet."

The multitudes of strangers he's going to have to negotiate on a daily basis now has always been firmly in Merlin's 'con' list of university life. He's not one of those people who makes friends easily. With Gwen it had been different. But Gwen is already hundreds of miles away, embarking on her own big adventure, and the only familiar face Merlin's likely to see for some time, is Arthur.

_Fuck_.

"You'll see her again soon."

His mother's always seemed a little like she can read his thoughts, and now is no exception. But before Merlin can panic at the prospect like he always does, the tannoy blares out his train's arrival, and it's _time_.

"Bye, Mum." It's nowhere near enough, or close to what he wants to say, but Merlin worries that trying for more will produce the tears he's struggling to hold off. So he surrenders to his mum's warm hug and her whispered farewells.

A sharp whistle blast forces them apart, and Merlin heads regretfully towards the train.

"I'll make you proud," he promises, climbing into the carriage.

Hunith smiles up at him through the door's open window. "You already do."

-*-*-*-

"Come on, it'll be fun. Please?"

Merlin tries his hardest to block out the noise and keep his head buried in Chaucer, but he's never been very fond of medieval English, and Elena's pleas are winning out.

"Remind me again why I'm friends with you?" he asks, closing the book with a little more relief than the impending assignment deadline allows for.

Elena, who Merlin has known for less than three weeks, but who has already claimed a place in his affections to rival Gwen, lounges back on his bed, insouciant grin in place. And it really doesn't matter what she says next because Merlin knows he'll end up doing whatever she wants. The die of this particular friendship has already been cast.

"You should wear those new jeans." Elena's grin widens even further. "You never know, there might be some cute boys there."

Merlin's sure there will be. He's seen cute boys by the dozen since starting at Albion – including one blond-haired, surfer-type in his Satirical Literature class who managed to take his mind of Arthur for most of the lecture. But the trouble is, although Merlin is no longer hiding who _he_ is, he has no idea to how to go about finding out who everyone else is. 

Even with Arthur, it had just sort of happened – there'd been a few too many drinks down the local one night, and next thing he knew he was pressed against the back wall with Arthur's hands down his trousers.

The memory makes him smile a little, despite the ending. And maybe Elena is onto something, he thinks. It's only a night down the pub – he'll have a few drinks, maybe actually talk to people, and if lightning really does strike twice, he might not end up going home alone. Which would be very nice, because apart from Elena, Merlin feels very alone right now.

"Fine," he says, with a poor attempt at reluctance. "But you are not allowed to try and fix me up with anyone. Especially not that bloke from your Sociology class."

Elena rolls onto her stomach, legs bent up behind her. "That was a mistake. I already said sorry."

She doesn't look in the least bit apologetic, so Merlin glares.

"So I have a bad gaydar. I'm straight – what's your excuse?"

"You know that's not actually a thing, right?" Merlin turns his back and faces his open wardrobe – there's not much to choose from so he tugs out the aforementioned jeans and a polo shirt.

Elena waves away his question dismissively. "Just hurry up and get changed. We'll never make happy hour otherwise."

And that's enough to get Merlin moving, because he'd prefer to save his student loan for frivolous things like food and books.

Happy hour in this particular establishment turns out to be a bit of a misnomer, given that it lasts from six to nine. Not that Merlin or Elena, or the hundred or so other students cramped into its cosy bar are complaining, and by half-past eight Merlin can already feel a familiar pleasant buzz under his skin. He doesn't like to get drunk – being out of control to that extent scares him – mainly, he suspects, because he used to have important secrets he was afraid of spilling. But even now everything's out in the open, or rather, he is, Merlin still likes to be cautious.

So when Elena tries to cajole him into another glass of something blue and _glowing_ , Merlin declines. If for no other reason that he's never been able to hold his drink and he really thinks it's a little early in their friendship for Elena to see him vomit in the gutter.

"Not for me." Merlin remains immune to her pleading this time. "Don't let that stop you, though. If you want one." 

Which is a silly question because she's already placed the order for that, and the accompanying shots that she simply will _not_ take no for an answer on.

Merlin hates tequila. It sends him a bit loopy and causes memory blanks, and aside from that it just tastes _foul_. But Elena's giving him the _look_ , the one Merlin could swear she has learnt from Gwen, and that _he_ has never learnt to say no to.

So he takes the shot glass and tips it back – his throat working furiously to get rid of the bitter liquid.

It burns a path inside and Merlin's eyes are watering a little as he slams the glass down on the bar. Elena's holding her own empty glass and grinning at him smugly. "That's more like it." She pushes the glasses over the bar and to Merlin's horror they're already being refilled. "It's about time you loosened up a little."

"I get much looser and you'll be carrying me home."

Elena reaches for the next round of shots and Merlin doesn't miss the very definite wink she shoots the barman. "Who says I'm coming home with you at all?"

Merlin laughs and shakes his head – he takes the next shot without protest. But when he lowers the glass, Elena's gaze is fixed somewhere over his shoulder. He turns to look but she places a stilling hand on his arm. "What _are_ you looking at?" he demands.

"There's a bloke over there. Well, there are several of them," she amends. "But one of them in particular keeps staring over here."

"You'll be spoilt for choice at the end of the night, then," Merlin says and tips his glass at her.

Elena tears her gaze away and looks at Merlin. "It wasn't me he was staring at."

Self-control be damned, there's no way Merlin isn't going to turn around and look now. With only a vague nod to casual, he places his glass on the bar and turns slowly.

And finds himself staring back at the heated gaze of Arthur Pendragon.

It shouldn't be as much of a surprise as it is – Merlin knew they were at the same university. Hell, it was one of the reasons why he'd chosen it in the first place. But for the last three weeks it has seemed as though Albion University was more than big enough for the both of them to exist in their own separate orbits.

It's been months since they were last together. But it still takes Merlin right back, and he feels pinned in place by that penetrating gaze.

It takes a moment or two for him to come to his senses, and it's the flicker of panic in Arthur's expression that does it. The connection broken, Merlin turns away and without a thought he takes Elena's own shot and raises it to his lips.

When it's empty, Merlin lets his hand fall but keeps his eyes closed and tries to regulate his breathing. Elena's still there when he opens them, despite what he'd hoped, and she now has an expression on her face that tells Merlin there's no escaping or side-tracking this conversation.

"Friend of yours?" she asks, with a casualness so obviously faked.

"My brother," Merlin says, with a vague hope he can pass Arthur off as nothing more than a friend of Gwaine's 

" _That's_ your brother?" Elena tips precariously on her stool in surprise.

Merlin lends a steadying hand. "No, he's a friend of my brother's."

"And?"

"And what?"

Elena's expression is patient, but her eyes narrow in a way that telegraphs _don't bullshit me, Merlin_.

Merlin could swear he can still feel the burn of Arthur's gaze on the back of his neck and there's just no way he can do this now. "Not here," he says, and hopes Elena knows him well enough to let it go for now.

She watches him carefully for a moment, clearly weighing up her options. In the end she slides off her stool and tugs at his sleeve. "Come on then."

Given she'd earlier declared her intent to be the last to leave, Merlin is just a little surprised. "What?"

"Well, you don't want to talk about it here, and I'm definitely not waiting any longer to hear a story that I expect to give me very pleasant dreams tonight, so..."

It takes a moment for Merlin to process what she's said, but by the time the flush is vivid on his cheeks, Elena is already carving a path through the crowds to the door.

Thankful to see she's at least avoided Arthur, Merlin follows reluctantly.

-*-*-*-

There are many reasons that Arthur regrets what he did over the summer – the hurt on Merlin's face was just one of many. Probably the biggest regret is the way he feels he betrayed his best friend.

Gwaine is a good guy – loyal, always up for a laugh, and there when you need him. But he's also Merlin's big brother. So not only does this add an extra dimension to Arthur's fear of discovery, it also means that he can never quite escape it. Merlin is always going to be there on the periphery of his life as long as Gwaine is around. Like right now, for instance.

He's been looking forward to Gwaine's visit for weeks – so has Leon. Their group just isn't the same without their third to complete things. In fact, so eager had Arthur been to catch up with his friend, that he hadn't paused to consider the consequences.

It hadn't been so bad in the club. Even if the sight of Merlin with a pretty blond girl on his arm had caused a stab of something that Arthur knew deep down was jealousy.

They'd both made an effort to keep their distance, but Gwaine, several pints in, remained oblivious. It hadn't hurt that Merlin's friend was doing her best to occupy as much of Gwaine's attention as possibly, because Arthur was fairly sure they weren't exactly subtle.

But Arthur hadn't been prepared for the moment Gwaine had suggested they head back to his and Leon's house for a post-club party. _The night was far too young, and so were they, to call it a night_ apparently. And it's not like Arthur could say no, not when Leon was already agreeing readily, and Gwaine was beaming at him like it was the best idea ever.

All of which is why Arthur is currently in one of his most uncomfortable situations to date – trapped in a room with his two best friends, his sister, some random girl, and Gwaine's younger brother who no one knows he's spent the best part of the summer shagging. Except possibly the blonde girl – Elena, he thinks it is – who, despite spending most of her time wrapped around Gwaine, still manages to find time to shoot him the odd shrewd, calculating look.

And Arthur's more than a little terrified because if Gwaine ever finds out, he could lose his best friend, but also because there's a very good chance that what he and Merlin had – and Arthur is, on occasion, prepared to admit to himself that it was much more than just shagging – is over. That Merlin has moved on, and even if Arthur can find the courage to ask for a second chance, there's a strong possibility that the answer will be no.

It's awkward and uncomfortable, with two thirds of the room paired off, and the other third trying to ignore each other in a fashion that won't set alarm bells ringing, and Arthur can't seem to stop _looking_.

"I should get going." Merlin drains the rest of his drink and gets to his feet unsteadily.

His friend tears her attention away from Gwaine long enough to pout. "But it's only early," she complains. "I'm not ready to go yet." Though if Arthur's any judge of the way Gwaine's hands tighten round her waist, she won't be going anywhere but upstairs tonight, which leaves Merlin...

"You don't have to come," he says, shrugging his coat on. "I'll just get a taxi."

Arthur's torn. He's done nothing but wish Merlin away all evening, but now he's not sure he can bear him to leave. Merlin is going out of his way to avoid him – Arthur knows this, and though it's what he said he wanted, this is as close as they've been for weeks, and he'll take what he can get.

"Don't be daft." Gwaine enters the conversation, a frown on his face at his brother's somewhat awkward behaviour. "Just stay here." He gestures around the room with a negligent wave of his hand, then pauses to gaze at Arthur sheepishly. "Oops, not my house. But you don't mind if he crashes here, do you? It's only Merlin."

It's been a very long time since it was _only_ Merlin, but once again Arthur finds himself unable to say no. What possible excuse could he give for turning Merlin out, even if he wanted to? So he finds himself shrugging.

"No problem. You can have the sofa – it's actually quite comfortable." And then he makes eye contact with Merlin for the first time that evening – it's only a brief moment, but Arthur's not sure how he's going to sleep now knowing Merlin is _so_ close.

The answer, as it turns out, is not at all. The muffled noises from behind various bedroom doors are something he'd really rather not think about, which isn't easy considering Gwaine has never been exactly quiet. And then there's Merlin, or rather, his knowledge of Merlin's presence just a few feet below, and all the questions it raises with their terrifying answers. There's just no way Arthur's getting any sleep now.

So he shoves the covers back with a huff and pads over the cold floor towards the door. He's just going downstairs for a glass of water to stave off the inevitable hangover – or at least that's what he intends to say if asked.

Fortunately they've lived here long enough for Arthur to know exactly which stairs will creak and announce his arrival, so he steps carefully around them and into the hall. Once there, he doesn't even pretend to himself any longer. The kitchen is straight ahead, but Arthur eases open the door to his right.

Merlin's asleep. Buried under a mound of motley blankets that Leon had found god only knows where – just a mop of messy hair and his pale face visible in the cocoon.

The angles of his face seem softened by the dim light, but Arthur is distracted by the sweep of dark lashes against his cheeks. They've had sex any number of times, but Arthur's never seen Merlin asleep before and it feels almost too intimate for him to bear.

So he turns to leave when he feels his chest tighten with an emotion he daren't name, but Merlin's hand shoots out from under the blankets and takes hold of his wrist. Merlin's fingers are warm against his skin, but it doesn't stop the shivers taking hold.

"You're cold," Merlin says softly, and his eyes flicker over Arthur uncertainly.

Arthur nods dumbly, stuck for words and rooted to the spot.

"I miss you, Arthur."

Arthur can hear some of his own pain reflected in Merlin's tone. His defences, already weakened by alcohol, tiredness, and a good helping of loneliness, finally crumble. He sinks down on to the edge of the sofa, painfully aware that they're now holding hands.

"Your brother's upstairs," he protests weakly as Merlin's lips brush against the bare skin of his shoulder. 

"So's your sister. And they're both having more fun right now than we are."

Arthur turns his head slowly and meets Merlin's gaze. "Fun?" he questions.

"It doesn't have to mean anything," Merlin says, and Arthur doesn't believe this anymore than Merlin sounds like he does, because it's _them_ and how can it not?

But that doesn't stop him from pressing his lips to Merlin's, from smoothing his hands over pale skin he's been seeing in his dreams, and when Merlin lies back and pulls him forward, Arthur goes willingly.

-*-*-*-

When Merlin wakes the next morning, his head is fuzzy, his mouth is dry, and he's pinned in place by the weight of Arthur's arm around his chest. And though a part of him wants to just roll over and press himself against Arthur's chest, there are so many reasons he can't – not least the regret he doesn't want to see in Arthur's eyes when he wakes.

So Merlin eases himself off the sofa as carefully as he can and quickly tugs on his clothes. It occurs to him as he leaves that he really should wake Arthur up, because if anyone finds him there in Merlin's place, he's going to have some explaining to do. 

But a bitter part of Merlin's brain points out that he doesn't owe Arthur anything, and another, mostly ignored part of his brain, suggests it would serve Arthur right. But mostly Merlin is still feeling far too vulnerable to risk being hurt by more rejection right now.

So he slips outside and lets the bracing wind blow the last of the night's cobwebs away, and starts the long journey home.

It's maybe an hour or so later – Merlin really isn't keeping track – when the knocking sounds on his door. It's loud and insistent and Merlin can hear it from in his shower. For the briefest of moments he allows himself to imagine it's Arthur, not willing to let him go this time. But Merlin knows it's very unlikely, and even if Arthur was willing to risk being seen there, chances are he'll be pissed off at Merlin for just leaving.

"Merlin. Open this bloody door now. It's freezing out here."

Just like that, Merlin's brief fantasy fades and he hurriedly leaves the shower to let his friend in.

Elena is still wearing her clothes from the night before, but given that Merlin's already done his own version of the walk of shame, he's not about to comment.

She's grinning from ear to ear and as she flops down on Merlin's bed, says, "I had the best night."

"That's nice." Merlin's tugs on his hoodie and hopes he won't be required to say more.

"I really want to talk about it," she continues. "Would that be weird for you?"

"Very," Merlin says decidedly. "I might be gay, but Gwaine is still my brother."

"Only step, though," Elena objects. She pouts then, but Merlin's not falling for it this time.

"No." He doesn't even have to fake a shudder at the thought of discussing his brother's sex life.

"Fine." Thought from the expression on Elena's face, it decidedly is _not_. Then a smile takes its place. "Okay," she says, pulling her legs onto the bed and crossing them. "Let's talk about you and Arthur instead."

"I already told you everything there is to know about that," Merlin lies, and hopes their friendship is still new enough that Elena won't see through it. If Gwen were here right now he'd be screwed.

"So why was he asleep on the sofa when I left this morning? Huh? And why did you bolt out of there without waiting for me?"

Merlin really doesn't want to have this conversation – like, ever. What he really wants is to crawl back into bed and sleep till Monday, but if the expression on Elena's face is anything to go by, the chances of that happening are getting more remote by the minute.

"It's nothing," he mutters, avoiding eye contact as much as possible.

"Really? So I'm just imagining that mark on your neck, am I? Because I'm fairly sure it wasn't there when you went to bed last night."

Merlin startles – he hasn't looked in the mirror this morning, not sure he'd been able to face his own reflection. There's a good chance Elena could just be setting him up, but he can't take the risk. Not with Gwaine in town. 

And sure enough, there beneath the neckline of his hoodie, where he can almost still feel Arthur's lips, is a vivid purple bite mark.

"What are you doing, Merlin?" Elena meets his gaze in the mirror, expression almost pitying.

Merlin knows what she isn't saying, that this is a _bad_ idea, that he's still not mended fully from the last time Arthur broke his heart and he's only setting himself up for another fall. It's all true. Merlin knows that. But as he presses one finger against the bruise and feels it throb faintly, he can't bring himself to regret it.

"You need to move on."

Merlin laughs just a little bitterly at this comment, because it's pretty obvious from the mark on his neck – and the finger shaped bruises on his hips that he'd spotted in the shower – that that won't be happening any time soon.

Elena slides her arms around his waist and rests her head on his shoulder. "Don't worry. I'm an expert in mending broken hearts." She pecks a quick kiss to his cheek and then steps away. "First things first, we need to get you laid."

-*-*-*-

Sometimes Arthur hates his friends. Well, not hates exactly, but he really does wish they wouldn't try to _help_ him so damn much.

"You need a night out," Leon had insisted. "You've been moping around this house for weeks."

Gwaine had sent a variety of texts, all along the theme of _you need to get some_.

Morgana had just hovered in the background watching Arthur with a suspicion that filled him with fear of what she might know, or work out for herself, if he persisted in fighting this.

"Fine," he'd huffed in the end, and reluctantly agreed to a night in a club when he really had an essay on management styles to write.

Which is why he's here now, propping up the bar, drink clutched tightly in hand, trying to follow the chatter of some woman who has been giving him all the signs. A year, even six months ago, this was all Arthur looked for in a night out – decent music, good company, a few drinks, and a warm – female – body to keep him company at the end of it all.

Before Merlin came along and ruined everything.

Before he tore up all of Arthur's carefully constructed plans and opened up a world that terrifies Arthur more than he knows how to express.

His plan to forget all his troubles in the company of this girl, whose name he wasn't even listening to, crashes around his feet, and in the end, Arthur makes his excuses. He can see Leon and Morgana on the dance floor, and it even looks as though Percy has managed to pull, which just makes Arthur feel more alone and isolated from his friends than ever.

Not that he can tell them, explain how he feels, because then he'll have to come clean about Merlin, and Gwaine's reaction to that would be the least of his troubles.

Arthur looks at his watch and is deciding how much longer he has to stay before his absence will be noticed. Then he sees them.

Two bodies intertwined on the dance floor, both definitely male, and pressed close in a way that Arthur has only allowed himself to imagine in his dreams. He feels a slow burn of something in the pit of his stomach at the sight. He'd like to say it was disgust at their brazen display, but the plain truth is he's jealous. Because there's a large part of who he is that will always stay hidden by necessity. And he used to think he was okay with that, but now...

The slow burn becomes a raging fire when the bodies turn into the light's beam, and it illuminates familiar cheekbones and inky hair.

Arthur almost crushes the glass in his hand.

_Fuck!_ He slams the glass down with more force than strictly necessary, drawing stares from the table's occupants.

Everything comes back to Merlin and there isn't a damn thing Arthur can do about it. But he's damned if he's going to stand there and watch while it happens. 

Only Arthur's feet seem to be at odds with his brain, and while his intention is to leave by the nearest exit, he ends up striding across the dance floor.

Fortunately Merlin spots his approach before Arthur is forced to make a scene, and despite the protests from his partner, follows Arthur off the dance floor and out into the corridor.

"Arthur?" Merlin's voice sounds uncertain when Arthur was sure he would be angry. "What is this?"

Arthur comes to a halt, leans back against the wall, and faces Merlin. It takes a lot of effort to forget what he'd seen just a moment ago. "Making new friends, I see?" Which, _fuck_ , wasn't what he'd meant to say at all, and the sneering tone certainly wasn't planned. He lets his head tip forward, unwilling to meet Merlin's gaze. "Sorry, that was—"

"Yes, it was." Merlin folds his arms over his chest and glares in return. "What do you _want_ , Arthur?"

Some of the tension leaves Arthur's body then, because that's the easiest question, and the answer obvious. "You," he says instantly, and pushes off the wall to close the distance between them.

Merlin's eyes widen in surprise but he makes no attempt to leave.

"I want _you_ ," Arthur repeats, and they're toe-to-toe now. "What we had this summer." He places a hand on Merlin's arm. "I want that."

Merlin licks his lips and swallows heavily, but there's a look in his eyes that gives Arthur hope he can get this back. But the door opens then and suddenly Arthur remembers just how public they are. But it's too late, because when he turns, Leon is there, with something like comprehension dawning in his eyes.

And it doesn't matter how fast Arthur steps back, how he pulls away from Merlin as if burnt, because it's _too late_.

"Uh...sorry," is all Leon says before he exits, but it's enough and Arthur can feel the panic take hold. And to top it all off, Merlin's looking at him like _that_ again, and Arthur's pretty sure he's about to lose everything.

"Don't ask again, Arthur," Merlin says steadily. "I won't..." He shakes his head slowly. "I deserve better."

"Like that weirdo you were dancing with?" The sneer is definitely intentional this time.

"At least he's not ashamed to be seen with me."

-*-*-*-

So Arthur had followed his original plan and taken home the first willing female he encountered.

And the plan was working too, or at least it would if his friends and family weren't intent on sabotaging him. 

"Someone had a late night."

Arthur has only been awake for around ten minutes and in that time he's already had to deal with a clingy and emotional female, whose name he can't remember, and the fact that his head feels like there are minor explosions behind his eyes every time he moves. The last thing he needs to deal with now – or ever – is Morgana. Especially when she's clearly working up to making a point, rather than just polite conversation.

"Morgana," he says, because it's always wise not to piss her off if possible. Besides, she's standing between him and the shower he sorely needs.

"I see your friend left already?" Her expression and tone are disdainful, and Arthur bristles. It's a bit fucking rich considering she doesn't live there and the only reason she's in his face this morning is because she spent the night screwing Arthur's friend.

He says as much before his brain can suggest otherwise.

Morgana's gaze narrows – never a good sign. "I'm here because I want to be. Not because I'm trying to fuck away the memory of screwing up."

If possible, Arthur feels even more nauseous than before. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he says stiffly.

Morgana watches him carefully for a moment. Arthur is gearing himself up for the inevitable argument when her expression shifts unexpectedly to one of disappointment. "Of course you don't," she says neutrally.

They're edging dangerously close to pity and to truths that Arthur can't face being exposed. He struggles to keep his expression calm and says, "If we're done here, do you think I could get into my bathroom now?"

Morgana moves out of the doorway without another word. She doesn't even look at Arthur before she stalks down the hallway and slams Leon's door pointedly behind her.

Arthur would like to write the shaky feeling off as the after-effects of last night's session, but even he's honest enough to acknowledge there's more at work here than too much alcohol. Morgana obviously knows, or _thinks_ she knows something, and there's no way she'll be able to let it go this easily.

Arthur strips off and climbs into the shower. The warm water eases his aching muscles but the churning in his stomach won't go away. Nor will the memory of Merlin, his arms wrapped around someone else, or the look in his eyes when Arthur had pushed him away.

"Fuck!" Arthur punches his hand into the wall and then follows it up with a several quieter "fucks" as the pain radiates up his arm.

He's become immune to his father's disappointment over the years – well, almost – but now, with Merlin and Morgana looking at him like he's letting them _and_ himself down, it's more than he's ready to deal with.

A problem Morgana apparently doesn't have as she slams the bathroom door open with force and strides into the room, heedless of Arthur's outraged "What the fuck?"

Arthur reaches hurriedly for the nearest towel and shuts the water off. He wraps the towel quickly round his waist. "Get out," he yells, because Morgana is just glaring.

But that seems to flick a switch.

"I am so sick of your bullshit." She's not yelling like Arthur, but that's not always a good thing. "Leon told me."

She says it like it means something and even though Arthur's already figured out that was the case, it doesn't stop the bottom dropping out of his stomach. "You've gone mad," he says, but his knuckles are white where he's gripping the towel like his life depends on it.

Morgana smiles slowly, but it's not a nice smile. It reminds Arthur of a shark eyeing its prey, and he knows exactly which one he is in that equation. 

"He told me about you and Merlin." She folds her arms across her chest before adding, "Not that I didn't already have my suspicions."

"Morgana." Arthur tries to inject as much warning into his tone as possible. But like usual it's wasted on her.

"Arthur, what are you doing? He's a lovely bloke and you obviously like him."

Arthur slams the shower cubicle door behind him and summons every reserve of self-control. "I don't know what you and Leon _think_ you know, but you're crazy if you think there's anything going on there." It's not even like he's lying. There isn't anything going on, nor will there be. Merlin had made that abundantly clear.

Morgana gives him a look, one that usually has him crumble, but not this time. The fear that grips Arthur at the prospect of going public, and all the ensuing fall-out that will bring, scares him far more than his big sister can.

Morgana shakes her head. She's disappointed in him all over again, and it makes Arthur want to claw at his own skin. "Lie to yourself all you want," she says, reaching for the door handle. "But don't lie to me."

The door closes behind her without the expected slam.

But as Arthur fights off another wave of panic and nausea, he hears, "I wouldn't want to be in your shoes when Gwaine finds out you've been screwing with his baby brother." 

And that's _really_ not something he wants to think about.

-*-*-*-

After that disastrous night Merlin does his best to lose himself in his work – he has assignments to complete, tests to study for, and fortunately Elena is sufficiently occupied with a mixture of her own work and Gwaine that she – _temporarily, Merlin_ – gives up on the idea of finding him a new boyfriend.

And if he has the occasional moment of regret about not accepting Arthur's offer, well, that's only to be expected, he tells himself, and definitely _not_ something he intends to share with his friend.

The remainder of the term gathers pace, and between his hours of study, and the effort he puts in to forgetting the very existence of Arthur Pendragon, Merlin is surprised one day to see that trees are up, lights are lit, and his mother is emailing him train times for the journey home at Christmas. 

Elena bemoans the time they have to be apart and makes lavish promises to visit. Merlin suspects Gwaine's presence in Ealdor is more of a draw than he is, but he isn't churlish enough to point this out.

"Just promise me you'll stay away from Arthur," she says as they hug farewell.

It's a request she's made repeatedly since careful questioning of Gwaine had revealed the proximity of Merlin's family home to his. It's also a request that Merlin isn't ready to agree to, not yet. The fact he knows he's an idiot for hoping doesn't make him hope any less.

"I'll be fine," he says in reply, and just like all the other times, Elena doesn't call him on it. She just hugs him tighter and tells him not to forget her.

"I know Gwen will be there and you want to catch up with her, but I'm still your best friend here, right?"

"Of course, idiot." Merlin presses a kiss to her forehead. "Now let me go before I miss my train."

She waits on the platform and waves him off in a weird replay of the scene with his mother some months earlier. And then Merlin's off, back to his mum's cooking and Gwen's hugs, and not even the looming presence of Arthur Pendragon is going to spoil these holidays for him.

-*-*-*-

"Fuck, Arthur! What did you do?"

Arthur looks up from his drink to face Morgana. He's had the crappiest Christmas Eve ever, and with their family history, that's saying something. It obviously shows in his expression too, because Morgana's face softens and she sinks down on to the sofa next to him.

"Uther's in a foul mood," she comments after a moment's silence.

Arthur laughs briefly, because that's putting it mildly. "I told him."

Morgana frowns. "About...?"

"About Merlin. About the others. About the very real possibility that I won't give him any grandchildren."

"Did he do this?" she asks, reaching out to touch his bruised face, her own twisted with anger.

"No." Uther Pendragon doesn't need to resort to violence to show his displeasure, they both know that.

"Then who?"

"Gwaine." Arthur takes another drink and winces as the whisky stings his cut lip.

"Fuck!" Morgana sinks back in her seat and says nothing further.

"Yeah, that about sums it up," says Arthur bitterly, because he's lost all this and he _still_ doesn't get to have Merlin.

"You did the right thing," Morgana says. Arthur knows that she's right, but—

"It's a bit too late, though, isn't it?"

"No," Morgana says emphatically as she takes the glass from Arthur's hand and gets to her feet. "Gwaine'll get over it – he's not one to hold a grudge, you know that. And Uther, well, he'll just be even more permanently disappointed with us than he already is. We can handle that, right? 

They've had a fractious relationship over the years, but Arthur doesn't think he's ever loved Morgana more than he does in that moment. He reaches out to take the hand she's offering him and lets himself be pulled upright. "Where are we going?"

"The pub. Don't argue," she says as Arthur opens his mouth to do just that. "Leon is meeting me there, and I refuse to leave you moping around the house on Christmas Eve." She grabs his coat off the chair and holds it out for him. "You'll have to face them eventually. Might as well get it over with now."

Which all sounds like an okay idea when bolstered by his sister's bravery and several whiskeys, but in the bright lights of _The Plough_ , faced with Merlin, Gwaine, and their assorted family and friends, Arthur promises himself he'll never listen to Morgana again.

Then Merlin smiles at him tentatively, and Arthur has to wonder how much Gwaine has told him. Although, from the look that Merlin gives his brother after the sight of Arthur's face, he knows the answer is _not everything_. But even Gwaine doesn't look as angry as he had the day before, and Hunith, who Arthur's always been fond of, smiles at him warmly, and it's all just too much. He's screwed up royally, hurt someone they love, and there's no way he deserves their forgiveness. Not yet, anyway.

So despite Leon's arm on his shoulder and Morgana's warning look, Arthur turns on his heels and flees without a thought for his dignity.

He's halfway across the market-place when he hears his name being called.

Instinct and the memory of Gwaine's fist tell him to keep moving. But he knows that voice, and he's spent most of the past six months running from Merlin in one way or another and it has to stop.

He turns and watches Merlin as he approaches, heart in his mouth, apologies on his lips before Merlin is near.

"It's okay," Merlin says, that faint smile still on his face.

"No, it's really not," Arthur replies, because he's done with lying.

Merlin's smile turns rueful. "Maybe not. But it could be."

"Why are you here, Merlin?"

"Why did you tell Gwaine?" Merlin shoots back just as quickly.

"I didn't know what else to do." Arthur's honesty is raw, and he's still not entirely comfortable with it, but Merlin deserves nothing less.

"What does that mean?" Merlin's eyes are wide with something like hope, and not even the miserable December weather can dampen the elation Arthur feels at that.

"I hurt you," he says.

"Yes." Merlin nods. "You did. But I don't think you meant to."

"Don't make excuses for me, Merlin. I don't—"

Merlin shakes his head emphatically. "Arthur, if I thought for one moment any of that was intentional, I wouldn't be here now. Anyway," he says, reaching out to gently touch Arthur's bruised face. "You ended up hurting yourself far more than anyone else."

"I deserved it." Arthur's face still aches and he wants to pull away, but leaving Merlin's touch right now is unthinkable.

"That's a conversation Gwaine and I will be having later," Merlin says darkly. "Right now, I just need to know why?"

"Why what?" Arthur hopes he doesn't sound obtuse, but he genuinely doesn't know.

"Why you told everyone about us. You could have just come out, if that's what you wanted to do. There was no need to mention me."

"You know why." Or at least Arthur hopes he does. "Do you really need me to spell it out?"

"Yes. I deserve that much, at least, don't I?"

Arthur can't argue with that. "I still want you, Merlin," he says, and takes a tentative step closer. "Nothing's changed."

Merlin shakes his head, but the smile on his face widens. "Yes, it has," he says, and then leans in to brush his lips against Arthur's.

Arthur gasps in surprise, but the noise is swallowed when Merlin begins kissing him properly, lips moving firmly against his, and it's like all the time they've lost never happened. This really isn't how he had expected the evening to go, but Arthur responds on instinct. One hand slides firmly around Merlin's waist, anchoring him in place in case he changes his mind, and the other comes to rest on the back of Merlin's neck, angling his head just so.

The fact that they are in public, that anyone could see, occurs to Arthur after a few moments, and he can't stop the laugh that bubbles up when he realises just how much he doesn't care.

"You okay?" Merlin asks, pulling back with a tiny frown on his face.

"More than okay," Arthur replies, then looks up at the sky and adds, "It's raining." 

Merlin laughs this time. "I know," he says, raising one hand to brush damp hair back from Arthur's forehead.

"We're getting wet," Arthur says, resting their foreheads together.

"I don't care." Merlin's smile is sweet and tender and feels amazing pressed against Arthur's lips.

"Gwaine," Arthur says after a moment, and wants to kick himself then – why the hell does he keep talking?

"Who d'you think told me to come after you? Think he's feeling a bit guilty – practically shoved me out of the door." Merlin nuzzles against Arthur's neck, his nose cold against the warm skin. "You wouldn't want to disappoint him, would you?"

Arthur glances behind them in the direction of the pub, and he's almost convinced he can make out faces in the window watching them – with Morgana, nothing would surprise him.

"Absolutely not," Arthur says, lowering his lips to capture Merlin's mouth again. The kiss lasts for quite some time, neither one of them paying any heed to their wet clothes or the faint catcalls from the pub behind.

The End


End file.
